


honey don't feed me, i will come back

by kaermorons



Series: Feral Witcher Fics [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Breathplay, Claiming Bites, Come Eating, Come Marking, Crack Treated Seriously, Dirty Talk, Felching, Feral Behavior, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Hair Pulling, Light Dom/sub, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Mutual Pining For Raunchy Disgusting Feral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Scenting, Sometimes Friends Drug Friends Because They Care, Spanking, What's A Bit Of Roofying Between Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier have excessive communication issues. Each claim nothing is wrong, but Yennefer decides it's time to give them a breathtaking realization, forcing them to come to their senses, pin down their problems, and submit to their dominant desires for one another.(This is pure feral Jaskier smut. Happy my birthday to you)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Feral Witcher Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618651
Comments: 17
Kudos: 434
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	honey don't feed me, i will come back

**Author's Note:**

> It's the sequel nobody asked for, and even though you don't HAVE to read the first feral Jaskier fic, why would you deprive yourself?
> 
> Critical acclaim from the beautiful betas:  
> "Geralt's ability to pull because of, not despite, his swamp ass sends a truly inspiring message to a generation of asses victimized by global warming also djkfKLJDFJSBhjskflgjfkjFDSLfkJlskj" - [janthonyashtoreth](https://janthonyashtoreth.tumblr.com/)  
> “I’ve been reduced to a puddle, scrambled harder than geralt of rivia’s intesitnes” - [tropicnanners](https://tropicnanners.tumblr.com/)

Things were fine. Absolutely fine. Geralt couldn’t tell you how fine things were, because there wasn’t a word for it. Things were back to how they were, as if that little incident after hunting the fleder hadn’t happened at all.

Things were fine, except Geralt felt a pang whenever one of the bruises Jaskier had left faded off of his skin like dirt washed away.

And Jaskier was fine too. Jaskier was back to normal, and didn’t keep himself up at night thinking about what the power of a panther felt like, running through his veins like lightning, expelling force like thunder. He hardly thinks of the way Geralt had gotten all breathy and beautiful when he was fucked just hard enough to hurt.

Jaskier wasn’t power-hungry, no. He knew his place in his and Geralt’s relationship. However, something from that morning in the woods shifted a part of them that hadn’t fixed itself back into place, and it made things...awkward.

Like how Geralt was reluctant to take a potion in battle anymore. How, even if he did take one, he wouldn’t go anywhere near Jaskier, even if he was injured. It hurt, seeing Geralt sew himself back together, back to him, a hundred paces from the fire. Jaskier was meant to be there for Geralt when he needed him, take care of him so he could rest.

Things were just about to reach a breaking point by the time they got a letter from Yennefer.

It came from a raven in the night, because it had nearly pecked Jaskier’s eye out to wake him up. A piece of parchment that smelled of lilac and gooseberries was quickly untied from the raven’s foot, and it flew away shortly after.

Sleep abandoned for the night, Jaskier decided to get dressed and rekindle the fire in the camp with more logs, Geralt casting Igni at it to brighten up the clearing. Things looked eerie for a moment before Jaskier settled down next to Geralt on a fallen log. “What does Yennefer of Vengerburg have that’s so important to say it couldn’t wait til morning?”

Geralt was quiet, eyes still scanning the witch’s script. “Yennefer says there’s a doppler in town that’s been annoying her.”

“You mean eating townspeople and whoever’s left is annoying Yennefer.” Jaskier said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hmm.” Geralt said, rolling his shoulders. “She’s just a town over. You can stay with her while I investigate.” Jaskier would have normally prickled at Geralt’s exclusionary choices in grammar, but was too tired to put up a fight, especially if they were going to just circle back around to how Geralt felt about the entire Incident.

Geralt stood suddenly, folding the paper and putting it into one of his saddlebags. “I’m not going back to sleep. Think you can stay alive on top of Roach while I take us to town?”

* * *

Yennefer had taken over an enormous estate in the countryside. Jaskier made one scoffed remark about seized opulence before staying quiet, grateful to not be sleeping on the forest floor for a night or two, even if Yennefer still frightened him at times.

When they arrived, Yennefer was waiting outside in the courtyard for them, fiddling with some device Jaskier was sure would cause a lot of grief if it went missing or was mysteriously damaged. She looked up at them. “Ah, Geralt. Jaskier.” she greeted, as warm as she could, which was pretty much a frigid breeze. Better than a blizzard.

“Yennefer.” Geralt said, coming closer. “Got your raven.”

“Yes, I know.” she said, infuriatingly. “Hope she hadn’t disrupted anything too important.”

“Ah, you know, just a regular sleep schedule. Nothing important.” Jaskier said, before Geralt leveled him with a glare. “Touchy…” he muttered.

“You two both look exhausted. Let’s talk business after you’ve had some time to rest.” she insisted, leading them inside.

The building was mostly made of stone, with several live plants scattered in windowsills throughout. Yennefer had been there for awhile, and obviously cared about the place enough to look after the plants. She led them down a hallway to one door. When Jaskier was about to play at needing more than one room, she gave him a look that left him feeling rather laid bare.

A curious expression came over her face, and she tilted her head to the side, like she was trying to figure something out for herself. Jaskier fidgeted under the scrutiny, before Geralt saved him and cleared his throat.

“You’ll have a bath. Both of you. Meet me in the library after you’re settled.” her eyes lingered once more over Jaskier, amusedly going to Geralt for a moment, before she disappeared around a corner.

“What was all that about?” Jaskier asked, following Geralt, who had wordlessly entered their room.

“Nothing good, I suppose.” Geralt said, already putting down his packs and swords, undressing in the direction of the bath he knew was in the next room. Jaskier stayed behind, setting down his lute in a chair before fiddling with his doublet. Before the Incident in the woods, Jaskier would have followed Geralt just as fast, but he wasn’t sure of his place with Geralt anymore these days.

There was a grunt of his name from the other room before Jaskier startled, dashing in.

“Yes?” he breathed, reddening at the sight of his Witcher slipping into the water, submerging inch by inch of skin until just his shoulders peeked out.

“You aren’t bathing.” he said, because Geralt didn’t ask questions he didn’t already know the answer to. Jaskier shrugged, looking away, anywhere but where Geralt was resting a hand on the lip of the tub, debating if he wanted to get up or not.

“Ah, yeah, well, I, um, figured you’d want your privacy, such a large place like this.”

“The Continent is a large place. You haven’t championed my privacy before.” he flicked some water at Jaskier, teasing him.

“Well, there’s a lot of things I haven’t done before, recently.” Jaskier said, bitterly. “Trying to figure out which ones won’t piss you off.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt tried to interrupt.

“Did you really not enjoy it?” Jaskier shot back, swallowing roughly. “Does the idea of submitting to me disgust you so much you cannot even bear to be around me after you hunt?” his voice was rising with the sea level in his eyes.

“No, Jaskier, I.” Geralt grunted, looking down. “Will you. Come closer. Please.” It was as much of a battle as he could win so Jaskier stepped forward until he was standing at the lip of the sunken tub, looking down at Geralt. “Sit.” the Witcher said, and what could Jaskier do but obey?

Slowly, Geralt removed his clothing, boot by boot, leg by leg of his travel breeches, and button by button of his doublet. Each item was set away from the water with care, and Jaskier knew he was stalling for time before he had to say he was sorry. Or not sorry, Jaskier didn’t care. Except he did.

“I enjoyed it.” Geralt finally spoke, when Jaskier resisted being tugged into the tub without an answer to his question. “I...I enjoyed it so much it frightens me.” and Witchers are not supposed to feel fear. “The only way I could have any control back over it was to distance myself from you, and I am sorry that I didn’t talk about it with you. I thought I was protecting you.”

Jaskier finally looked Geralt in the eye and saw the sincerity there.

“When I saw...when I saw how much it had hurt you, had burned you, had scrubbed away your agency from your eyes, I...I could not risk that happening again. Every time I closed my eyes to dream, you were screaming at how much it hurt.” the confession was whispered, but Jaskier caught every word. Jaskier let his feet dip into the water and approached his Witcher.

“It did hurt.” Jaskier admitted. “And it scared me, too.” His hands ran little patterned tracks along Geralt’s skin, leaving droplets in his wake. “But you pushed me away when you needed me. When you were hurt. When I needed you.” Geralt’s arms snaked round Jaskier’s shoulders, pulling him into a warm embrace.

“I will not abandon you again.” he vowed, somberly. “And if...if something like this happened again, I would...I’m afraid I’d help you not unselfishly.” Jaskier smiled and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s collarbone.

“Thank you, Geralt.” he said. “Let’s enjoy this bath before Yennefer freezes it around us when we’re taking too long.”

* * *

Yennefer’s library had several hundred books on herbalism and it didn’t tell Jaskier if they belonged to Yennefer or the previous tenants. There were several stacks of books sitting by Yennefer in the cushy chair by the roaring fire. She looked up and casually closed her book before standing. “There you are. Took you long enough.”

“Can’t blame us for enjoying your hospitality.” Geralt said. Jaskier would have said about the same, but Yennefer wouldn’t have smiled the way she did if he’d said it.

“Fair enough. Come. Sit.” She motioned to the already-poured wine glasses on a nearby table, clearly for them. Jaskier took his gratefully.

“I like taking contracts from Yennefer. Have I ever said that?”

“You’ve never said that before, Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled, forgoing his drink and sitting down across from Yennefer. It was rather nice to be able to catch up and talk, between bits of details about the doppler in town. “How many has the doppler killed so far?” Geralt asked, after tossing a log on the fire when it’d dwindled a bit. Jaskier was on his third glass of wine, and leaning affectionately on Geralt.

Yennefer watched the two of them in that curious, amused way she always did. “Three, but I don’t think it realizes we’re closer to getting it than it thought. It may feast some more.” She flicked her gaze to Jaskier and remained quiet. Geralt noted with some unease that Yennefer almost never failed to comment on their relationship, ranging from how unlikely it was to how annoyed it made her. Geralt kept quiet about this finding, and continued talking with her.

“Your bard better stay here until it’s caught.” Yennefer said softly, when Jaskier dozed off on his shoulder.

“If I have him stay here, you can’t antagonize him.” Geralt looked down at Jaskier, gently laying him down over his lap. They didn’t have moments like this too often, and after their discussion in the bath, he was remembering how much he missed the familiar weight against his side.

“I have work to do. I hardly think we’d see each other. Hopefully he stays out of trouble if left to his own devices.” Yen says.

“That…” Geralt sighs, and is momentarily distracted when Jaskier snuffles in his sleep and cuddles closer to his middle. “That’s an impossibility. Trouble attracts Jaskier as well as—”

“You?” Yen gave a saucy smirk. “I need help with my work anyway. Lots of potion making. Have a large order to make for someone in Rivia, in fact.”

“I thought you needed me for a doppler, not as a pageboy.” Geralt said amiably.

“Not this time.” She smiled again, infuriating in the way that was so purely Yen that Geralt couldn’t make himself be annoyed. “Do you have any other questions about the doppler?”

“I think I’ve all I need to hear about it.”

“Well then. Rest well. You can start your investigation tomorrow.” Yennefer rose and bid him goodnight before Geralt gathered his bard into his arms, extinguished the hearth, and carried them upstairs for the evening.

* * *

Yennefer did not go to sleep that night. She stayed up, writing furiously in a notebook that most would have to be insane to even want to decipher. Bits and pieces of what she had learned from skimming off the top of the bard’s dreams were committed in ink and paper. She would transcribe necessary ingredients the next day, but memories only lasted so long.

* * *

Geralt was gone from the bed by the time Jaskier awoke in the morning. The room was still dark, how he liked it, so he knew it had to be late. He rose, pulling back the curtains to reveal the day, and frowned at the overcast skies. He hoped it didn’t rain. Geralt didn’t like gloomy weather, more than most.

Eventually, he made his way downstairs where Yennefer was writing rather hastily in a notebook when he entered the dining room. Breakfast was provided on the table, no doubt from a bewitched townsperson. Jaskier didn’t tend to balk at Yennefer’s methods anymore, and hadn’t for the last several years.

Without looking up, she asked, “Do you prefer grapes or strawberries?”

Jaskier wasn’t sure she was speaking to him. It wasn’t often that she did. However, when she had received no answer, she looked up, leveling him with an ‘I’m waiting’ kind of look that reminded him of his grammar school days. “Strawberries. Unless the grapes are wine.”

Seemingly satisfied with this answer, she rose from the table. “I need you to go to town and visit the apothecary. I’ll have a list ready when you finish breakfast.” She left swiftly after, leaving no room for protest.

* * *

The list Yennefer had provided was rather long, but blessedly legible to his teacher’s eyes. Jaskier was a little disappointed he didn’t see Geralt anywhere in town, but knowing there was a doppler around didn’t leave him in a very relaxed state to begin with. He returned, arms laden with herbs and produce and a dozen small vials, relieved to be inside.

Yennefer was surprisingly civil when Jaskier was about, never insulting him. He wondered if Geralt had said something that would change this mood, which normally would annoy him, but Jaskier was in an admittedly strange state of mind, these days.

“Yennefer!” Jaskier called, unsure of where the sorceress was. She appeared just behind him, startling him how she favored doing. “Good gods, Yennefer.” He muttered as he followed her further into the house to a room with a heavy oak door she pushed open with hardly any effort.

“You can put those down there. Run into any trouble?” She asked.

“If by trouble you mean Geralt, I did not.” Jaskier said, setting down the load of herbs and organizing them one by one on the butcher-block counter. “Mandrake root, verbena, enough cortinarius to kill several horses, wolfsbane, and alcohest. They gave me quite the strange looks, I’ll have you know.”

“Nothing you’re unused to, I’m sure.” Yennefer replied coolly, igniting a fire in a hearth across the room. “Just need one last favor, bard.”

“Yeah, what is it?” Jaskier said, before Yennefer was pushing him into a chair and the world went dark for awhile.

* * *

When Jaskier awoke later in bed, he had no memory of what happened after he dropped off the goods from the store. His head, though a bit muddled, wasn’t in any pain that would indicate a hangover. With none of the usual suspects there to help him connect the dots, he got up and walked about the room. Nothing seemed out of place except himself. He finally noticed his thumb was covered in a neat set of bandages, and when he pressed on it, found it was sore, but not injured, like he’d pricked it on something. 

Before he had any other time to ponder these developments, Geralt showed up, coming through the door looking rather frustrated and upset. “Geralt!” Jaskier called, following him to the bathroom. “Something’s got a bee in your bonnet, doesn’t it?”

Geralt simply grunted and started stripping off his clothes with little preamble. Jaskier could see no injuries, blessedly, so he must simply be angry at something else. “Geralt.” Jaskier tried again, stepping forward and trying to get the Witcher’s attention.

“Fucking doppler fucking skipped fucking town.” Geralt grunted, when he was settled into the bath, which was always somehow hot. “Left a fucking note. It will return. Now I’m just sitting here waiting on the word of a cursed doppler.”

“Why aren’t we following it? Tracking it?” Jaskier asked, getting to his knees beside the tub.

“Had a friend. A human friend. Didn’t want to alert it to my presence, this is the better choice. You won’t catch an eel if you grab at one too often.” A bit of Geralt’s logic seemed to soothe him, which had him laying his head back and resting against the side of the tub. “What happened to your thumb? Can smell the blood.”

“Oh, well. Must have pricked it on something.” Jaskier said. Geralt fixed him with a curious look, as if Jaskier was holding something back. “I seem to get myself into trouble in my sleep, now.” Jaskier shrugged. He wondered how much of Yennefer’s shopping errand he should divulge to Geralt, but seeing as Yennefer was a mage, and mages made potions often, the information likely wouldn’t be interesting to Geralt, anyway.

Jaskier gently rubbed at Geralt’s shoulders awhile before being tugged into the water by two sword-calloused hands and a kiss. Miffed by his now-sodden clothes, the bard sputtered in indignation. “Coulda given a man some warning, hm, Geralt?” Geralt only shrugged, smug and proud of himself.

“You look better this way.” Geralt says, hands going to Jaskier’s hips. On instinct alone, before he could stop himself, Jaskier reached a hand out, finding Geralt’s hair where it was still a little dry, gripping tight and pulling his head back firmly, exposing his throat.

They were both breathing a little heavily. Jaskier knew Geralt could easily flip their positions, but from the growing hot thickness at his thigh, he didn’t plan to. “And you look better like this, my love.” Jaskier murmured, keeping his grip steady as he pressed kisses up the side of Geralt’s jaw, leaving a small nip at his earlobe that made the Witcher give a stuttering exhale. Jaskier moved his way down, down the long column of Geralt’s throat, leaving the hint of a bite at his pulse. Jaskier loved the way Geralt’s hips surged up, canting for friction, for any contact on his hard cock. “Ah ah,” Jaskier teased. “I think you’ve been quite naughty, my Witcher.”

A low growl rumbled from Geralt’s chest, but was kept contained by the thin line his lips were pressing against one another. Jaskier adjusted his grip on Geralt’s hair, wrapping his fist around as much of it as he could, gathering it in bulk. When he tested out a small tug, Geralt looked surprised with himself to hear his sudden moan at the sensation. His eyes had a glassy look to them, hazed over like when…

Like in the forest.

Jaskier quietly pulled his hand back, self-conscious for the first time since they’d talked out their concerns over what happened. Geralt seemed to understand his hesitation, and swallowed thickly, pulling his bard close and holding him fast. They breathed like that for awhile before washing off and keeping their boundaries, though neither could stop thinking about what had happened, playing in their minds like a waking dream.

* * *

“So what do you plan to do while the doppler is out gallivanting with whoever was stupid enough to trust it?” Yen asked when they’d convened for dinner, sipping out of her wine glass.

Before Geralt’s temper could spike from the slight, Jaskier chimed in, chirping, “Taking full advantage of your fine company and hospitality, of course.” Dinner had been laid out on the table already when they’d walked in after the impromptu bath.

Yen didn’t let it go. “Shirking a contract, Geralt? What a naughty thing for a Witcher to do.” Jaskier’s eyes flew to Geralt’s. Had Yennefer been near enough to hear their exchange in the bath? Geralt had a serious glower on his face, and Jaskier cleared his throat.

“Well. Best not waste this wonderful meal talking, shall we?”

They sat quietly, and all attention was focused on the food before them. Well, most of the attention. Yennefer was watching Jaskier inhale his food with fervor, and was grabbing rather mannerslessly at the strawberries on the platter before him.  _ Good.  _

It was by all means a normal dinner, despite the rather unnatural circumstances which gathered them there. “I cannot remember the last time I’ve had a meal so grand.” Jaskier moaned around another mouthful of food, about fifteen minutes after they had begun eating. Geralt agreed silently, and looked up when Yen gave a small laugh.

“Well, you’ll need a full stomach for the night you two are about to have.”

All the air and noise seemed to hastily leave the room as one.

“What.” Jaskier muttered, mouth still full of food.

“I said eat up, Jaskier, lest you tire yourself out before the spell wears off.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped, and with it, the food in his mouth, the fork in his hand, and the mood and overall temperature of the room. Two pairs of eyes, golden and blue, looked up at one pair of violet ones. “Yen,” Geralt growled. “What did you do?”

Jaskier swayed as if seasick quite suddenly with a groan, and Geralt was on his feet in an instant, at his side in the next.

“Nothing that hurts, nothing that harms, only something to help get both of your heads out of your asses.” Yen sipped from her wine, smug. “Better get that one upstairs, Geralt.” She gestured to Jaskier, who had broken out in a sweat and had his eyes squeezed closed. His face was contorted in uncomfortable pain.

“Jaskier. Jaskier, can you hear me?” Geralt said, bringing his hands up to Jaskier’s face, lifting his lolling head and trying to focus him. That distracted, out-of-it look reminded him frighteningly of how he looked when the djinn had cursed him, but there were no tumors growing, at least from what Geralt could see.

“Too much...bright. Loud.” He moaned. Geralt shot a furious look at Yen, but she had already left the dining room by then. Without another choice, Geralt scooped up the ragdoll bard into his arms, and carried him upstairs to their rooms. Jaskier breathed deeply into his neck, shaking slightly. Geralt set him down on the bed and Jaskier let out another uncomfortable moan.

“Hot...too hot…” Jaskier was indeed burning up, and pawing at his clothes desperately. Geralt obliged him and divested him of everything he could, while Jaskier was still hanging limp on the side of the bed. Once he was naked, Geralt could see his whole body was flushed, like he’d been exerting himself. “G’rlt?” He asked, head rolling to the side once more, eyes rolling in his head, unfocused and uncontrolled.

“Getting you water.” Geralt pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s brow, worried at the heat from the fever he was no doubt succumbing to. He was going to kill Yennefer after this.

When he returned to the room with a damp cloth and a glass of water, Jaskier was on his feet, in a stance Geralt recognized all too well.

* * *

His eyes were clear blue this time, but still held the same focused rage as before, and the feeling of anticipation sent a shiver down Geralt’s spine. “Jaskier. Can you hear me?” Geralt was already in a defensive stance, anticipating the lunge that Jaskier had led with last time.

“I can hear you, Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice, normally so lyrical and clear, was rough and raspy, a low growl beneath it. “I think I know what Yennefer was trying to do.”

Geralt swallowed, feeling his neck grow hot. “Oh?”

“She read my mind. She knew we both wanted this to happen again. She had me go out into town and buy supplies. I should’ve known they were the same ingredients that went into your potions.” The tension broke in Jaskier’s shoulders, and he looked down at the ground. “If you don’t want this, I…” He turned around and gripped the sheets on the bed. “She’s got a dungeon below the house.”

“No.” Geralt growled back.

“No?” Jaskier looked around, eyes still wild, caging a barely contained man within.

“I think we should stay here. I think we should...ride this out.” Geralt swallowed again, mouth suddenly watering with the idea of feeling that tremendous power above him, within him, around him. He took a small step forward, noticing how Jaskier’s nostrils flared, scenting the air around Geralt as they both surged with arousal. “You...still want this?” Geralt asked, ready to stop all of it before it even began.

Jaskier turned, body rigid and ready to pounce. He leaned forward toward Geralt, still scenting, until he pressed his face close, but not touching, to the junction of Geralt’s neck and shoulder. Geralt’s heart was pounding, though he felt breathless and lightheaded from how fast he was turned on by it all. A short burst of breath on his skin was the only warning he got before he was being walked steadily backwards, until they hit a wall, crashing together in a meeting of lips and teeth and tongue.

Geralt let out a groan, cock twitching in his trousers as he fought for some semblance of control, hands going to Jaskier’s shoulders. His hands never made it past the bard’s elbows before they were pinned to the cool stone by his head. The grunt of surprise the Witcher let out turned into a harsh whine at the sensation of teeth at his neck, gnawing and nipping wherever they could find purchase. “Taste so good, Geralt…” Jaskier moaned into his skin.

The Witcher found himself unthreatened, safe within his animal’s grasp. Before he could talk himself out of it, he slowly lifted his neck up for Jaskier in submission.

A beat passed between the two men for a moment before a low growl rumbled through his chest, ending raspily at his lips. Geralt felt like melting butter, sliding wherever gravity wanted him to go. “So good for me, you’re being good for me?” Jaskier rasped. Geralt gave a quick nod, at a loss for words more than normal. His wrists were still pinned to the wall. He could get out of the hold if he wanted, he knew he only had to say one word and it would stop Jaskier in his tracks.”Been dreaming about this for weeks. Weeks.” Jaskier emphasized his patience by grinding his hips up toward the Witcher, not caring about the rough laces on Geralt’s trousers or the strained texture against his cock.

“Then take me.” Geralt whispered, desperate and practically vibrating in Jaskier’s hold.

He felt the grip on his wrists tighten a moment, before those hands pressed flat, sliding up into the Witcher’s own, fingers intertwined. The sharp memory of the same motion from the morning in the forest knocked the air from Geralt’s chest in a high whine meant for Jaskier alone. The lips sucking dark marks in his skin moved up the column of his neck, a hot, wet tongue claiming his scent like the last remnants of a meal hard fought for. Geralt’s knees wobbled, weakening.

Jaskier’s tongue did not stop there, leaving another dark bruise on the underside of Geralt’s jaw before finding his ear, sucking indulgently at the lobe and breathing deeply, like he was trying to inhale every particle of Geralt that existed. Geralt was of half a mind to let him. They came together in a kiss once more, just as harsh and violent as the first time.

“Knees.” Jaskier commanded, pushing the demand into Geralt’s mouth like he’d have it spit back at him. Geralt dropped to his knees the moment his hands were released, earning him a pleased growl from Jaskier above him. The substantial hardness Geralt found himself face-to-face with was an angry shade of red, and he opened his mouth on reflex. Jaskier guided his cockhead past Geralt’s lips, already bruised and bitten from just before. The taste was unaffected by whatever concoction Yennefer had drugged him with, he tasted just the same as he always did. Before, his bard even smelled different, earthy and poisoned, so unlike the regular, clean, male scent Jaskier smelled like underneath all those perfumed oils. That safety, that familiarity, made Geralt groan in relief.

Jaskier’s hands slid to the back of Geralt’s head, and undid the tie there with nimble fingers, tossing the bit of cord away from them so he could tangle his fingers deep in silver hair. With a gentle strength, Jaskier pushed his cock further into Geralt’s mouth, sliding along his tongue with practiced ease. The resistance at the back of Geralt’s throat fell away as a wash of comfort fell over the Witcher on his knees. The pace started slow, but built its way up to a punishing tempo. Jaskier fucked his throat, growling back at every gagging choke Geralt gave.

Amber eyes flicked up to blue, leaking tears past a glassy gaze. Geralt’s own prick was straining, unbelievably hard, at the front of his trousers. Jaskier’s growling built to a shout, and he took Geralt’s hair in two hands, pounding into the Witcher’s throat with abandon until his hips stuttered once, twice, before spilling down into Geralt, the first time of many that night.

Geralt gasped for breath when Jaskier’s cock left his lips, face falling into the juncture of his lover’s hip, chest heaving from exertion. Jaskier’s skin came away wet, tears wiped on his hips. Hands pawed at Geralt’s shoulders, until he rose once more, on shaky legs. Thumbs wiped away his tears from the corners of his eyes, and were kissed away with love.

“Alright, love?” Jaskier rasped, holding his Witcher to the wall. Geralt didn’t trust his voice, wrecked as his throat was, so he simply nodded in affirmation. “Good.”

Quick as a flash of lightning and just as shocking, hands snaked up beneath Geralt’s legs, forcing them apart before he found himself being  _ lifted from the floor.  _ He gave a surprised shout and scrambled to hold on to Jaskier as he was manipulated to wrap around the smaller man.

They both looked surprised at this sudden feat of strength, most likely due to Yen’s potions. Not willing to test it for longer than necessary, Jaskier turned them, walking as one back to the bed, before depositing his Witcher on it with a slight bounce and a grunt, but then—

Geralt cried out, writhing on the bed. Jaskier watched with growing hunger—why was his cock hardening again so soon?—as he realized Geralt was cumming in his trousers, leaving a darkening wet spot against the front laces. It seemed Geralt was more affected by the show of strength than either of them thought. Jaskier fell to his knees, hands pressing their way up to Geralt’s hips and slowly rolling his trousers down his body, revealing the sticky mess beneath. Jaskier bowed his head and followed his nose with his tongue, cleaning up Geralt as best he could. Geralt gave a soft moan of appreciation, petting Jaskier’s sweat-matted hair away from his face. Jaskier pressed a kiss, then a soft bite, to the meat of Geralt’s palm, before nuzzling into it.

Geralt could hardly breathe as he watched Jaskier crawl up from the edge of a bed, all swinging hips and coordinated movements. He was a panther, some kind of hunting lion, a prowling, predatory cat with sights on his prey. The fluttering in Geralt’s heart must not have been only excitement, but how a rabbit felt before the fate of a fox’ teeth.

Jaskier joined their lips together, and they shared a groan at their combined tastes, sitting spicy and bitter on their enhanced palates. Their tongues traced against one another, teeth knocking every so often, and Jaskier continued letting his hands trace all over his Witcher wherever he pleased.

“You want more?” Jaskier purred in Geralt’s ear. The returning groan, Geralt hoped, would be answer enough, but apparently not. Jaskier tutted, leaning back. “I think you need to start using your words, Geralt.” His voice, though teasing, held a sharper edge to it. “Tell me what you want, Witcher.”

“I…” Geralt faltered, mind racing too quickly to focus on any one sexual act, not when Jaskier was teasing his prick with the tips of his fingers. Gods, he could feel the callouses from his lute, he was so sensitive.

“Go on.”

“Your hands. Want your fingers.”

Jaskier hummed, nosing Geralt’s chin up so he could breathe in that intoxicating scent of him again. He stayed quiet while he considered, so long that Geralt started to squirm impatiently. “I think you know how to ask nicely.”

An embarrassed flush surged to Geralt’s face and chest, and Jaskier could feel, could hear his heart skip a few beats as he swallowed down his precious pride to get what he wanted so badly. He gave a shiver.

“Jas...please.” He tried, barely a whisper. Jaskier gave a wolfish grin, all teeth. He wasn’t satisfied by two words. Geralt swallowed and tried again. “Jaskier, will you please put your fingers in me?” His words barely caught enough air in his throat to qualify as words, but with their enhanced hearing, enhanced senses, he knew Jaskier could hear.

“That’s what I like to hear. Good Witcher.” Jaskier teased, letting his fingers draw up, up, to where Geralt’s lips were open in soft, needy huffs of air. His lips parted even more to let Jaskier’s fingers in, teasing at Geralt’s tongue, tracing his gums and sharp teeth with intense interest. Geralt sucked on his fingers until they were wet, dripping with saliva. Jaskier’s other hand moved the Witcher’s legs apart until he could easily get to his entrance.

Geralt sucked in a breath, almost surprised at how badly he wanted to be fucked, to be claimed and owned by Jaskier. It was as animal an instinct as he had, submitting to his lover, his mate, just to please him.

The first breach of his hole was not tentative, it was confident and sure, which Geralt relaxed into, taking that slick finger deeper into him. The stretch was pleasant the more Jaskier rubbed at his opening, easing him open for what was to come. Occasionally he would spit to ease the way some more, but other than that, Jaskier was taking his time, pleased to do this for hours, it seemed. Geralt twisted and moaned when, at two fingers deep, Jaskier curled up, hitting the same hot bundle of nerves Geralt usually loved abusing in his lover. Jaskier’s fingers were long, they were very disciplined, and they were strong even without the aid of any of Yennefer’s potions. That knowledge would have brought Geralt to his knees, had he legs to stand upon and didn’t have two very skilled fingers up his ass.

Geralt began grinding his hips down onto Jaskier’s hand, and almost got away with it for a moment before Jaskier’s other hand reached out and grasped his hip, spanning a tempting distance around him, thumb to furthest fingertip. That hand was now aided by the potion in his system, pinning him immobile against the bedsheets he’d find his ruin upon. Geralt’s breath huffed out of his lungs in one go, surprise shocking his nerves.

“I thought you were going to behave for me.” Jaskier teased, nipping at the soft skin of Geralt’s collarbone. His fingers continued stretching, but stayed an infuriating distance from where Geralt wanted them. “Thought you’d be so good for me, after how pretty you asked for my fingers.”

“Being good. Can be good. Jaskier.” Geralt panted, writhing and desperate. “Please?” He’d really say anything at this point if Jaskier would just  _ hurry the fuck up. _

Jaskier only tutted again. “You want me to fuck that pretty Witcher ass?” He whispered softly, slow as honey and twice as sweet.

“Y-yeah.” Geralt stuttered.

“Aren’t you going to ask me nicely to fuck your ass til you cry?” Jaskier asked, amused.

“I beg your pardon.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier’s amusement only grew, a predatory grin on that perfect mouth. “Well then. We’ll have it your way. Beg me.”

The tension was so great between them, palpable and fragile enough to cut with a bite. Geralt’s mind was a whirlpool, and he was drowning, drowning in need. His mouth went dry all at once, all the blood going to the effort of holding his cock hard against his belly. Jaskier’s look grew expectant but not impatient. He’d get his way.

“Jas...Jaskier…” Geralt couldn’t find the strength his voice needed. “I need...I need you to fuck me.” He was shaking now, arms almost numb. “Please.” Jaskier knew Geralt knew what he wanted to hear. “Fuck me until I cry.”

The tension snapped like line on a doomed ship at sea. Geralt was flipped onto his front, groaning at the twin sensations of feeling empty from fingers slipping from his ass, and the friction against his cock. Jaskier pulled him until he was bent over the edge of the bed, hands grasping at the bedclothes for a moment before they were held at the small of his back in one spanning hand. Jaskier pressed his wrists together before releasing them, a silent command to  _ stay. _

And Geralt obeyed  _ oh _ so well for Jaskier.

Jaskier only stepped away long enough for him to grab the oil from their bags, and once he was back on the bed with his Witcher, he gave a grunt of approval when he saw Geralt hadn’t moved his wrists an inch. That hot wash of feeling Geralt was beginning to associate with praise burned up his neck and across his chest. “Good, Witcher.” Jaskier murmured, an amused tone in his voice.

Geralt wiggled toward where Jaskier was on the bed, longing for some skin contact to warm his shivering limbs. They shook not from cold, but in anticipation. He held his breath as the vial of oil was unstoppered, poured over those fingers with ease. Jaskier’s dry hand held his ass open, while the other slipped easily into the cleft of his ass, teasing little touches Jaskier knew drove Geralt crazy. The Witcher could only press his ass back into Jaskier’s hold, a low groan of need punctuating the moment before Jaskier pressed in a finger, oiled and hot and steady. Geralt’s breath caught in his throat, eyes flying open as he grasped at the sheets. “Jas…” He groaned. Jaskier growled impatiently, wordlessly, and Geralt’s hands returned to where they were at the small of his back.

Jaskier pressed further and further in until he was at his furthest knuckle, as deep as one finger could go. He let Geralt squirm beneath him. “You’re only going to rile yourself up more that way, Witcher…” Jaskier teased, licking at the outside shell of Geralt’s ear. Geralt grunted as Jaskier withdrew his finger, pumping it in and out to get used to the motion he’d be most likely feeling all night long. “Go ahead, Witcher, ask me for more.”

“I already begged you to fuck me, Jaskier. I think you’re backtracking a bit— _ oh!” _ Geralt suddenly cried out as one finger became two, scissoring apart to open him up, loose and stretched. Jaskier didn’t need to administer much more preparation for his lover, Geralt liked it when he could feel the stretch and burn.

“I’m the one backtracking, hmm?” Jaskier sounded a little more undone, now. Geralt was glad to see he wasn’t the only one affected by all this. “I think you have a bit too much mouth on you to be making any criticisms.” Jaskier pulled his hand back and smacked Geralt’s ass, making the man groan in surprise. Without a moment of hesitation, he pulled back and did it again, hand barely stinging from the impact. His fingers stayed firmly buried in Geralt’s ass. He knew the hit wasn’t gentle to say the least, due to the potion. He could smell the arousal oozing out of every pore on the man. “Say thank you, Witcher.”

“Fuck you.” Geralt growled. He received another even application of swats to his behind for his troubles. “Fine! Fucking...thank you, Jaskier.”

“Of course, love.” Jaskier may have been drugged with some kind of crazy magic shit, but magic couldn’t undo years of being a cheeky bastard in bed.

“Will you fucking fuck me already?” Geralt snapped, impatient and horny.

“Don’t remember you being this tetchy last time.” Jaskier muttered, rising up. Geralt pointedly looked away, but could hear the squelch of oil Jaskier was applying to his cock, the small groan from the man behind him, and he reddened at the tips of his ears.

Jaskier pulled his Witcher down on the bed, bent over the edge once more to his liking. He spread those cheeks again, and Geralt sucked in a breath, tense suddenly. Jaskier stilled. “I may have this...whatever flowing through my veins, Geralt, but you don’t have to do this because I’m afflicted so.” Jaskier’s voice was sincere and serious, and Geralt looked back at him.

“I want this, Jaskier. I want you.” Those seemed to be the magic words, because all at once, Jaskier leaned in, kissing Geralt filthily, and popped the head of his cock in before he could second-guess once more. The shout of surprise and pleasure fought the balm of submission that was slowly layering itself upon his body. “More. More. Please.” Geralt panted against Jaskier’s lips.

Jaskier obeyed as well as he commanded, and pressed his hips forward, not bothering to stifle the groan of satisfaction, slipping into that tight, hot ass like there was no other death he’d die. He breathed shakily against Geralt’s neck, regaining control some. Geralt clenched around him, wrenching a startled shout from the bard. He readjusted his grip on Geralt’s hips quickly, and began pounding in with abandon.

The feeling was intense, deep to Geralt’s core, the way he felt when communing in places of power. He allowed himself to be overtaken, claimed by Jaskier, who was seeking the best place to drive his cock ever deeper within him. When he found what he was looking for, that bundle of nerves he’d been abusing not too much earlier, Geralt cried out, trying to scramble back up, something, just so he could get more of that.

Seeing his Witcher trying to get up displeased Jaskier, and with a snarl, he shot a hand out, pinning Geralt down by his neck to the bed. The whimper that left Geralt’s lips seared itself into Jaskier’s memory, he would remember it until his dying day. He tightened his grip and pressed in some more, feeling the muscles pulse and twitch under his fingertips as Geralt struggled to swallow over his endless deluge of groans.

Jaskier increased his pace. “You better get comfortable, Witcher. I don’t plan on letting you off my cock for very long all night.”

The promise was so tempting, so beautiful to believe for even a moment in Geralt’s mind, that he couldn’t help it, cumming beneath him and all over the sheets below, trapped. Jaskier growled, loud, and lifted his grip from Geralt’s neck, scratching a red trail down Geralt’s scarred back with his blunt, but sharp, nails. Geralt felt the new marks radiate heat like burns, and he moaned in need, knowing they’d most likely be gone within days. The only scars he wished to bear were the ones from Jaskier’s hands. He lifted his hips, desperate for more, even though Jaskier was truly giving him everything he ever wanted. Jaskier used both hands to drive hard and deep into his lover, desperate for release, his second of the night. With a bitten-off roar, Jaskier spilled into Geralt, painting his insides with his spend.

Jaskier thrusted his hips a few more times, driving his cum deeper and deeper into the Witcher’s body, before pulling out with a grunt. At Geralt’s resulting moan from the loss inside him, Jaskier hushed him, petting his sides like he would a spooked creature. Geralt’s thoughts swam about his skull with ease, ducks on a pond. His entire body felt lax and used and dripped with Jaskier’s cum like it was what he was always meant to do. The bard pressed soft, sweet kisses all over his shoulders, and Geralt finally tuned in to the filthy things he was saying.

“Felt so good, Geralt, took my cock so good. Gonna use you like this all the time. Mark you up so you won’t forget it. Throw you on the ground whenever I want and fuck the lights from your eyes til they’re cross. Spank you over my knee with your fucking sword, til your skin is red as the sun and you’d beg me for more. You’d thank me for tanning your backside, wouldn’t you?” Geralt let out a choked moan, finally getting with the picture. “You’d thank me and suck my cock again, deep as you can go, deep as I wanna go, paint your insides so thick you’ll slosh when you walk.” Geralt rolled to his side, trying to get closer to Jaskier, but another swat landed on his ass, close to where his bruising hips shook. “You stay there, love, be good for me.”

Geralt felt him slip down the bed and just behind him. Was he already up for another round? All the thoughts that could have come to his mind whited out, washed away in a current that started when Jaskier put his tongue over his wrecked ass, licking up the cum that had already started dribbling out of him. He breathed shallowly, lost in sensation. He could have gone blind, and wouldn’t have noticed.

That tongue, that damned tongue. It wriggled where it willed, and lapped at the cum still inside. Jaskier groaned at their entwined tastes, together, swallowing messily as his mouth and chin got slicker as the moments passed on. Geralt could indeed feel his eyes going cross, especially when a long finger joined that tongue’s efforts to drive him crazy. He was distantly aware he was shouting.

“Fuck.” Jaskier panted, sounding like a man near-drowned. “Wanna paint every inch of you with my cum, Geralt, claim you, make sure everyone knows who you submit to.” His voice was ragged, still edged with an intensity Geralt knew came from the potions. The filthy things the bard was saying were entirely of his own mind, though. “Ready to go again, Geralt?”

Hands rolled him onto his back once more, and Geralt’s hands went up above his head on instinct, remembering how Jaskier had pressed his wrists into the sheets, saying  _ stay here, love. You’re mine. _

Jaskier gawked at him a moment. “You’re beautiful like this.” he whispered, enraptured by the scene. His hands held a slight tremor as they pressed up against his thighs, skimming on sweaty skin with worshipful care. Geralt turned his face away, embarrassed by the praise. A hand came up and gripped his jaw, gentle but firm. “You’re beautiful, Geralt of Rivia. When you submit, when you take me, when you care for me using nothing but your body. You’re a beautiful man, Geralt.”

Their eyes locked then, blue and gold meeting the same way Jaskier looked at Geralt day in and day out, the same fond softness that spoke  _ I cherish you, you are mine and I am yours as long as you’ll have me. _ Geralt didn’t even realize tears were slipping from his eyes, flooding through his lowered defenses, until Jaskier was there, rubbing them away with his tongue and kissing him clean, pressing his love into Geralt’s skin like it would come off if gone too long without it. They embraced, intertwined limbs and kisses of need.

“Need you.” Geralt whispered, when Jaskier’s kisses rained down upon his neck, over his pulse. His fingers fell into Jaskier’s hair, pulling ever closer. “In me. Again. Please, Jaskier, please…” The words fell, tumbled from his mouth like the preceding events to an avalanche. Jaskier steeled his face and nodded.

“I’ll give you what you need.”

They rolled around on the bed together, Geralt pushing back at Jaskier just to get that spark of feral interest back in his bard. Best not waste Yen’s gifts. Jaskier finally snarled and grabbed both his wrists, pulling them up again and pinning him with hips and hands back to the bed. Jaskier grinned down at him, all teeth once more, and Geralt allowed himself to submit, nodding at his lover with a playful smirk. He ground his hips down into Geralt’s, their cocks already hard again.

“I think I like this stamina.” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow and leaned down to suck a dark purple mark into Geralt’s collarbone. Ever-sensitive, Geralt whined and kicked his feet desperately. “You want a cock in you again?” Jaskier hissed in his ear. Geralt nodded, beyond pride, beyond humiliation. He was safe to want, safe to take and be taken, when it was just him and Jaskier.

Jaskier slicked himself back up again and lifted Geralt’s legs, moving his knees back until he was almost bent in half. “Such a beautiful, good Witcher.” Jaskier murmured, pressing a kiss into Geralt’s gnarled ankle, where he’d broken it too many decades ago. He shivered at the reverence Jaskier always had for his broken body. Finally, finally, that cock slid home once more, Geralt’s ass welcoming it back with desperation.

Geralt tossed his head back, arching up at the feeling. Jaskier felt so much deeper now, and Geralt wanted to be taken apart and put back together however Jaskier wanted, a hundred times. A thousand times. Every day for the rest of his life.

“That’s my Witcher. There we go.” Jaskier purred, encouraging. Geralt scrabbled, wild, until he found Jaskier’s hand, bringing it up to his neck, needed that pinned-down, grounded feeling Jaskier had been so good at providing the entire night.

Jaskier locked eyes with him, nodding in understanding. His other hand joined the other, and made sure Geralt’s hands were wrapped around his forearms. “When you’re done, squeeze.” Jaskier ordered, all seriousness in his voice.

He began to squeeze.

It took awhile for his grip to get anywhere near suffocating for Geralt, but as his breath started to wheeze, in conjunction with the intense pounding Jaskier was giving him, he felt his eyes start to unfocus, getting dark around the edges, a dusk on his senses. He gave a small whine before his voice gave out, blocked by Jaskier’s hands. His whole life was in his hands now, and he’d never given up control like this before, even in the forest weeks prior. Jaskier’s intense blue eyes never looked away, almost unblinking in their focus, controlling his breathing with a sober duty.

When the darkness overtook him and his eyes rolled back, Jaskier let up. He stilled his hips long enough for Geralt to cough, hard, and catch his breath. His senses were all over the place, he was hearing colors and smelling sounds, and every touch felt like a bomb in his brain. Jaskier’s hands came back to their previous position, and began again.

They repeated this, over and over, until they were both on the very edge, teetering at the edge of their control. Geralt never knew there would be so much pleasure from letting go like this. He’d heard of it, yes, but to experience it so vividly, so perfectly, to be at Jaskier’s mercy and know he would never harm him…

His orgasm overtook him by surprise, and his strain against Jaskier’s hands made the darkness surge in, even as his vision whited out in pleasure.

He came to with Jaskier’s hands on his calves, an iron grip tight as a vice, and Geralt knew he was going to leave handprint bruises on his legs as well as his ass. He floated back into consciousness as Jaskier pulled all the way out. Geralt gave a weak whine, voice absolutely wrecked. His legs fell to the side, weak and boneless.

His eyes were barely open as Jaskier’s fist furiously flew over his cock, lip caught between his teeth in concentration. Geralt numbly watched a bead of sweat drip down Jaskier’s face. He wanted to lick it off. With a loud groan, Jaskier came, spraying his cum all over Geralt’s body, landing everywhere from his hair to his own spent cock. Three times, he’d cum untouched. He had never felt more wrung out in his life.

Jaskier collapsed to the bed with him, hand tracing lazily in their mixed seed. Where it pooled in Geralt’s navel, he leaned down, sucking it into his mouth, before coming up to Geralt to share their taste. His head was pounding, and he remembered to breathe basically after he remembered it was a vital bodily function.  _ Only when Jaskier says so, anyway. _

They held each other loosely, more limbs stretched lazily atop one another than an actual embrace. That round was exceptionally draining for the both of them. Jaskier pressed soft, adoring kisses to where his hands had wrung his neck.

Time drifted by like a branch through a river, dipping under and over the surface with no pattern, no intention to it. Geralt felt a cup pressed to his mouth, and sipped at the watered-down wine thankfully. Even now, when Geralt was supposed to be caring for his affected lover, Jaskier was there, taking care of him. His eyes were warm and bright, and kept searching his face until Geralt realized he wasn’t searching, he was seeking to memorize every detail he could.

The thought of being preserved like that in Jaskier’s memory forever was perfectly fine, in his opinion.

* * *

At dusk on the next day, Geralt knocked on Yen’s door with a doppler’s greying, bloody head in his hand. “Your doppler problem is solved.” he grunted, voice just this side of hoarse. Yennefer was keenly aware of why.

“Thank you, Geralt.” Yennefer said dryly. “Should make life a little quieter.” She turned to her armoire and started fishing out the coins she’d gathered from the town to dispose of the creature, but Geralt stilled her by raising a hand.

“Yen.” He said, softly. “You don’t have to pay me anything.” He sounded a bit embarrassed, but overall looked more relaxed than Yennefer ever remembered seeing him.

“I take it your bard is free of the potion’s effects by now?” She asked, unapologetic in admitting her hand in all that’s happened.

Geralt sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, inadvertently showing off the bruises and bites cascading down his jaw and neck. Jaskier always had a sharp bite, in words and otherwise. “Yeah. I’m gonna wake him up in an hour and get on our way.”

“Well. If you won’t accept payment, I suppose you can take all these off my hands.” Yen picked up an unassuming satchel sealed with a funny-looking lock. Geralt was familiar with an alchemist’s pack. He peered inside, and was hit with that same smoky scent he recognized in Jaskier’s sweat last night. His eyes flashed to her eyes in recognition. “What? You both enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?” she smirked.

Geralt made a few half-aborted noises, but didn’t hand back the satchel, turning on his heel and striding off up the stairs, a faint limp in his step that Yennefer would think on for many years, and still laugh just as hard at.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate titles for this fic are:  
> \- animal style, well-done (an homage to my favorite french fries)  
> \- 2 feral 2 jaskier  
> \- feral jaskier 2: this time with breathplay  
> \- chucklefucks, the humorous prelude to memorable sexual encounters  
> \- whats a bit of roofying between friends: the yennefer of vengerburg story  
> \- i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck (at least i did last time i checked)


End file.
